Birds love
Cut into pieces and spread
over the thoughts,
trees can now be
carried inside the
head. Lovers no longer
need gardens as they move
into sex in
odd places with
bad names, cozy
under their own
trees. In excitement
their brains
resemble pink newborn
rats. Snakes on the
trees curled,
drool over
the brain plum.
The lovers break
under the pain.
If you happen to be
on top of the tree
you must have seen
how the
kiss ends in the
kid end of the body,
how the head tops scatter and
red fountains erupt.
Rat hisses, snake shades
skin. Who eats whom is
an argument no one
cares to win.
The trees look hungry,
ready to travel again inside
the thoughts. They sniff,
search the air,
but the lovers are
no longer there.
from Autumn Sky Poetry 17 — by Mangesh Naik
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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